


Running with a Ghost

by Trentkusuri



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Ghosts, M/M, RusAme, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-15
Updated: 2017-08-08
Packaged: 2018-10-05 14:48:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10310639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trentkusuri/pseuds/Trentkusuri
Summary: Spurred to do so by some offhand remarks by one of his co-workers, Alfred takes up jogging during his evenings for exercise. At a recreational trail where all Alfred was expecting to find was physical fitness, the American finds much, much more.





	1. Rising up

            Alfred F. Jones had recently taken up running. And he definitely didn’t take up these evening jogs just because of a few particularly jarring comments from a certain British co-worker, he’ll have you know.  
            “Of course I’m fit!” Alfred huffed to himself softly the evening that he had gone to the fitness store to get his workout outfit-- which he certainly hadn’t gone to the same day of those unscrupulous comments, certainly not. “I am nooot fat.” the American muttered to himself as he scanned over himself in the mirror of the changing room stall that he was using. And he wasn’t, not really. Did Alfred workout as often as he probably should? No. Did Alfred eat a healthy, balanced diet like he should? Definitely not. But, despite all of this, the American wasn’t overbearingly overweight. Give the credit to luck or a highly functional metabolism, but Alfred wasn’t fat by most people’s standards. Arthur Kirkland just happened to land outside of the range of most people’s standards. And giving what Alfred remembered about statistics, if something was outside of the populations normal standards- you reject it!

            Using that logic, Alfred had ignored Arthur’s mean, offhand comments for about half a year. He kept ignoring them until, one day, Alfred noticed that his suitcoat was fitting a little more snug than usual. At first, Alfred blamed the dryer for, reportedly, shrinking his suit coat on him, but, when Alfred noticed that he wasn’t tightening his belt as far as he normally would, Alfred decided to take exercise into consideration. But, Alfred only decided to take up running to maintain his overall health for in the long run, obviously.

            “I’m only taking up running because I want to have something that I can do in the evenings as a hobby” Alfred thought to himself, still in a huff, as he purchased his new clothing on his way out. He, as he would tell everyone who asked, had gotten bored of playing video games during his free time and, without a doubt, wouldn’t miss playing his fantasy video games; he especially wouldn’t miss playing the one that he had only purchased less than a week ago.

            Alfred, of course, chose to run in the evening because it would be less crowded on the streets and trails that he would run on; he unquestionably chose to run in the evenings to avoid crowds and not because he wanted to dodge the really fit people that he would see jogging in the morning on his way to work.

\--------

           “Hmph, I look good in this” Alfred said to himself on the evening that he removed all the price tags from his workout outfit and put it on. He wore a 3/4 length sleeved running shirt and some running tights underneath a pair of athletic shorts. The outfit fit him well and, to the untrained eye, Alfred looked at home in the outfit. He wore the outfit naturally as if he’d been running for months rather than just starting. This helped Alfred’s confidence considerably as he turned from the mirror and left his home, slipping his running shoes on as he went.

            As Alfred briskly walked from his home to the running trail, taking a moment to thank his past self for buying a warmer running outfit; the October weather was easily providing crisp, cool evenings that would prove to be too cold in other workout outfits. And although it would be warmer to jog in the morning or late afternoon, Alfred preferred to go in the evenings; he would simply have to put one or two of his pay checks towards a treadmill or gym membership for the freezing winter months soon to come.

            Alfred let out a breath and tapped the pads of his shoes against the blacktop as he came to the well-established “friendship trail”. It was a nice trail from what the American had seen years ago, when he had walked here with his brother, Matthew. The trail was long, well-lit in most areas, conveniently came around in a big loop back to the starting point, and gave a nice break from the constant city landscape with lush trees and even a few flower gardens.

            “This is a nice place...” Alfred thought to himself after a long moment of appreciating the scenery around him and pulled his phone out of his pocket, tapping open his music app. “...Whelp, ready as I’ll ever be.” Alfred said to himself as he started the playlist of motivational music he put together the day before and entered a light jog along the trail.

            -----------------

            Everything was hot, everything was horrible. Sure, he had just spent the last half an hour jogging, but did he feel light and happy? Nooo. It felt like someone stabbed him in the side with a letter opener and he felt like he had legs made of lead. Being happy after exercising was about as grand of a facade as people laughing while enjoying a salad by themselves.

            “Running sure seemed like a good idea _before_ I actually started running.” Alfred panted between gasps for air. “Aah screw it, I already made it this far.” Alfred thought as he noticed the beginning of the trail once again, “Might as well finish this strong.”  
            But, the finish wasn’t as close as the American had perceived it to be and, because of a mixture of Alfred’s determination and downright stubbornness, he reached the finish without slowing or stopping. Alfred was at least a little proud of himself because of this accomplishment even though his heaving pants were ringing clearly around and across the nearby flower patch.

            “Sure, I’ll meet new people because of running.” He breathed while removing his headphones, “I’ll meet some nice paramedics on my way to the hospital.” Alfred huffed, though it lacked bite.

            “Ah, man.” Alfred breathed as a chill seemed to run through him and he shivered.

            As Alfred turned to start the walk back to his home he stopped, turned back, and looked for a long moment as if trying to find something that was out of place. As he looked, nothing seemed to change though, the only difference of note being the flicker of a nearby lamppost, which Alfred easily shrugged off although he did find it a little creepy. Upon announcing to himself that it was time to go home and have something warm to drink, Alfred turned on his heel, leaving the trail to make his way home. As Alfred left the trail, the nearby lamppost seemed to flicker faster a moment before regained its normal, calm shine as the American turned his back on it. This was certainly a good start Alfred thought to himself as he made his way home.

           After that day, Alfred became a regular at “Sunlit trail”. Alfred often still had a hard time motivating himself to go run, but, despite what he would say, Alfred felt good most of the time while he was running (excluding the times when he develops a stitch halfway through a run).

           Alfred, even more so, always felt proud of himself when he finished a run, coming back full circle to the starting point. The American could get used to this, he supposed.

\---------------------------

           About three weeks had passed since Alfred began his evening runs at the trail, and it was safe to say that the evening runs were beginning to wriggle and fight their way into his everyday routine. On days he didn’t go running, he felt as if they were missing something from his day. Alfred would even go out on his runs on days that most would consider staying inside (possibly because Alfred hadn’t save up nearly enough to afford a treadmill yet). His runs along the trail energized him and made him feel like he accomplished something each day, no matter what else had happened before or after for the rest of the day. Alfred hadn’t stopped playing his games though, goodness no. To get the American to stop would be to kill him; Alfred would be easily convinced that, even in death, his ghost would be playing video games somehow.

           Instead of giving up games, Alfred instead used his runs as little breaks from his video games. If anything, Alfred would ponder possible strategizes while on his runs.  
           “I see the city still hasn’t fixed this lamp here.” Alfred muttered to himself as he approached the lamp in question, which seemed to flicker in response to his presence.

           Alfred had noticed about three or five days into his routine runs that this lamp, and seemingly only this lamp needed to have its light switched out. The fact that the light was flickering akin to horror film lamps was enough to creep the American out. His paranoia and “creeped out factor” only increased when it came to his attention that the light would only flicker when he looked at it or so it seemed. But, not wanting to live out a horror film midway through the spookiest month of the year, Alfred quickly shooed those thoughts away and gave his undivided attention to the closest thing he could find as he finished his dynamic warm up.

           The first thing the creeped-out jogger’s eyes found was what could only be a memorial plaque. And, despite this being so eerily close to the “demon lamp post”, Alfred’s curiosity got the better of him and he read over the plaque. The plaque read, in artistic script: “In memory of Ivan Braginsky, whose smile could light up a room and whose hands could beautify any landscape.”

           “Huh...” Alfred said as he let out a breath, not having noticed that he had squatted down to better read the epitaph as well as get a better look at the headshot of the young man centered well beside the complementing cursive carving on the memorial plaque. “That’s too bad...” Alfred murmured, looking over the features of the man that Alfred thought was either Russian or Polish based on his last name. It really was too bad the American thought as he stared at the light haired, light skinned young man on the plaque.

           “He was a cute one though.” He said to himself. The smile he wore on his face in this picture looked calm, but still happy as well as caring. The man, Ivan, did look like he would have been a good gardener, too (if only because the memorial itself brought to attention). Alfred’s eyes trailed down to the man’s neck, which was wrapped about with a soft looking scarf. Although it didn’t seem too out of place, the scarf still seemed to look a little too warm to the American. It did look nice to touch though, the American pondered for a moment before his thoughts were torn from the bust of the man as the lamp post above him began flickering with an intensity greater than he had ever seen before.

           Thoroughly alarmed, Alfred jumped to his feet and bolted down the path, deliberately choosing to run a different route that evening at a wary and accelerated rate. Despite the adrenaline rush and improved workout from the “encounter”, Alfred still decided that he would be sure to notify the city that that lamp post _definitely_ needed a fresh light bulb.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ivan hasn't really shown up yet, but don't worry! This is one million percent going to be a RusAme fic, the "Rus" part of it just needs to show up first!  
> Expect chapter 2 soon!


	2. Electrical Surge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "If there's one thing Alfred's afraid of, it's ghosts."

                  After that evening, Alfred couldn’t seem to take his mind off the events from the evening prior. The more he thought about it, the more unsettled he felt; and no matter how often he would push the thoughts from his mind, they would just re-emerge later, with increasing intensity. Alfred was stirred enough by the event that not only had he contacted the city’s park and recreations department via email, but he also left them a message and even sent a handwritten letter to the head of the department. 

           If there was one thing Alfred was horrified of, it was ghosts. This fact only drove Alfred to even greater lengths to disprove the notion that anything involving the supernatural occurred that evening.  The amounts of horror films Alfred had been binge watching the evenings prior to the incident hadn’t eased his mind any and he concluded that he would put the “horror movie marathon spook-tacular” on hold for the time being.

           Furthermore, despite his extreme desire not to, the American still willed himself outside of his house each evening to maintain his workout routine. He did, however, chose a different running path instead of the usual one, even though he liked the new path less. He also considered moving his runs to the mornings, but, to his dismay, his schedule conflicted with all the times he was willing to drag himself early out of bed for a run.

\----------------

           Five days had passed and Alfred had almost completely forgotten the “lamp post incident”. Alfred was waiting for a meeting to begin that day and was very pleased to see that he had gotten a reply to his email from the park and recreations department. The email header read “Sunlit trail lamp post light replacements...”. Upon opening the email, he immediately found solace upon reading the words “Dear Alfred Jones, we received your email and would like to assure you that the lamp-post lights were replaced on---”

           “Alfred!” One of his co-workers snapped upon noticing he was on his phone as the meeting was beginning. 

           Alfred quickly closed the tab on his phone and tucked the phone into his work bag. “Yeah, yeah. Geez, I was just waiting for you old guys to be ready to go.” He teased, feeling completely relieved and refreshed that the problem had been sorted out and that he would safely be able to return to the Sunlit trail for his runs. Alfred’s co-worker harrumphed in response and began going over the outline of the meeting. Aside from the chiding Alfred had received later for his comment, the American was otherwise completely contented and had decided that he would mark the good news with the return of his normally scheduled runs.

           When evening came, it was pleasantly crisp; “Perfect for jogging” Alfred would say to himself as he readied himself that evening. Having decided to kick things off fast that evening, Alfred finished his warm up at his home and jogged straight from his place to the running path on the Sunlit trail.

           As Alfred came to the main entrance of the trail, he flashed a grin at the lamp post upon seeing no abnormal activities from it. Just a steady, calm glow of normal light. 

           “Nice.” Alfred exhaled as he jogged passed, leaving the lamp behind him and keeping his eyes from the memorial slab. Perhaps it happened in time with his blinking, but Alfred hadn’t seen that the very same lamp post he just passed flashed mere moments after Alfred had passed by.  As Alfred jogged, he took time to admire the gardens and fixtures as he went by; they looked particularly stunning this evening with the full moon shining down on them and the soft glow of the lamp posts highlighting their edges and features.

           As Alfred continued to jog, enjoying his music, he failed to note that as he ran, the glow from the lamps that he was appreciating were seeming to flicker as he jogged passed. The flickering only came to the American’s attention when he was halfway through the two-and-a-half-mile looping trail. Alfred had been jogging passed one of the trail’s small gardens when a nearby lamp post began strobing erratically.

           Alfred gasped softly, mildly startled by the sudden strobing, “Geez.” Alfred breathed, panting softly as he abruptly stopped jogging. Alfred gave the area a quick look around, his music still blaring in his ears. “They must have missed that one.” he panted before re-entering his jog, his pace slightly slower than before. Although relatively unsettled, Alfred continued jogging, trying every way possible to keep his mind off the creepy topic. He settled on thinking of new possible battle strategies in his recently purchased game.

           “If I put Tai-le in the front, Ewan could back her up even though she’s a glass cannon.” Alfred pondered while jogging “And Ariel could heal and buff them so--” Alfred's thoughts were ripped from strategy as a loud, almost defining electrical sound cracked from the lamp post to his immediate right. For the sound to make it through the blonde’s headphones, Alfred shuddered to think how loud it actually was and Alfred flinched away from the lamp post, visibly jarred.

           “Christ.” Alfred hissed under his breath, running forwards, away from the offending lamp. “I thought that they said that these bulbs and stuff were replaced!” He shouted as he saw lights in the close proximity flickering. Unsettled by the apparently sudden upheaval, Alfred whipped his phone out and tapped furiously at the screen until he had the email menu. As he went to open the email, however, there was a sudden, drastic drop in wi-fi signal and data connectivity and his web-browser crashed.  
           “Aw c’mon!” Alfred cried in dismay, having never experienced such problems with connectivity here before. Alfred then noticed, while impatiently waiting for the browser to reopen, that he has missed two calls somehow. He knit his brow and moved his attention to the phone application. The blonde opened the answering machine and his music cut out in response, allowing him to hear the buzzing of the lamp post he distanced himself from. It seemed to have grown softer as he got farther away- not only because of the increased distance; it was as if the buzz only happened because he had been close to it. 

           Alfred pried his thoughts from this, however, as he heard the monotone, electronic voice talk to him as he entered the answering machine. “You have: two new messages.” The electronic woman said mechanically “To listen to your messages Pr--” The woman was cut off as Alfred pressed the appropriate button to listen to his messages.

           There was a soft click and a breath before Alfred heard and old sounding woman on the other end. “Hello, Mr. Jones. This is Amelia from the parks and recreations department. We received your call and email and would like to inform you that--”

           “The lights had been replaced the other day.” Alfred filled in himself, remembering the email he began to read at the meeting.   
           “---had been replaced at the end of summer about a month ago.-” The old woman continued, much to Alfred’s surprise. But, trying to keep his wits about him, Alfred reasoned with himself that a bad rain storm must have recently messed with the lights.  
           “There must be some water er something in the generator... thing.” Alfred said aloud to calm himself.

           “However,” The old woman said, capturing the American’s attention again, “To help ease your worries about the condition of the lamps,” She began, although the more the woman spoke, the farther a chill worked up Alfred’s spine. “We sent some of our workers out to the trail you mentioned to see the condition of the lamps.”

           Alfred listened on pins and needles; Of course there was something wrong with the lamps! They just haven’t had enough time to replace all of these _goddamn_ lamps yet!

           “And we’re happy to inform you that all the lamps are working wonderfully!” The old woman announced happily to Alfred’s extreme displeasure. “Not a flicker or a burnt bulb in the bunch of them.” She continued, a cold, hard knot forming the pit of Alfred’s stomach. “They got back to me just now as I speak so everything down at your trail is perfect! Please continue enjoying using the trail!” She chimed joyfully, to Alfred’s terror.

           The kind, old woman continued talking for some time about something, but Alfred had stopped listening. The blood has swiftly drained from his face; he was gripping his phone so tightly his knuckles grew white with the effort.

           These lights were _not_ fine; these lights were _not_ working wonderfully. Alfred thought he heard the woman say something about a survey, but Alfred could barely suppress the nauseous feeling swelling his stomach let alone listen properly at that moment.

           As if on cue, the “Wonderfully working not-a-flicker-or-burnt-bulb-in-the-bunch” lamp post in the distance began to flicker, violently. Similar to the fashion lights flash at raves, they began flickering. Alfred almost vomited; his breath wasn’t coming fast enough and his breath wasn’t coming slow enough. He felt like he was going to scream, but didn’t have the voice to at that moment as he was petrified in place from sheer terror. It was then, in his horrified silence, that the monotone electronic voice came back again.  
           “End of message.” She said before continuing, “Next message.” the machine said. Alfred gasped shakily. Oh, that’s right, he thought, two messages. 

           “Surely this next one will be them again calling to tell me how screwed up the lamps really are. A big mistake, but it'll be fine it’ll--” Alfred cut his rambling off as he heard... his music? Alfred listened harder; he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Alfred went through the apps on his phone quickly to his music player to discover that it wasn’t going. Of course it wasn’t playing; it auto stops when on the phone. But, if that’s true

           Alfred snapped his gaze behind him as he thought he heard panting. After a moment's investigation, it struck the blonde: it was his own panting. Alfred was about to reach up and tear his headphones out, but just before, he heard a soft crackling and seconds later, a voice he didn’t recognize resonated through the headphones. 

           “Wait!” Alfred managed to hear faintly through his panting and music, “Stop! Please stop running!” The voice was soft, but it was all it took to chill the American’s blood completely. Upon hearing the words, the lights around him began to flicker, spasming violently, commanding the American’s attention. Horrified, Alfred tore the headphones from his ears to, at least, free him from the sounds. He turned to start a sprint down the way he came, but froze in place, gripped by overwhelming fear as he looked down the path. 

           Alfred watched, petrified in place as all the lights began flickering in a series. Farther away lights began flickering, strobed angrily, and then the flickering seemed to jump to the next light, infecting it to flicker, strobe and then jump to the next light once again. 

           The blood fell quickly from his face as the alarming pattern worsened and picked up speed towards the blonde, as if homing in on him. Alfred quickly suppressed the idea of fainting to, instead, spin on his heel and break into a sprint down the remaining lit path ahead. Alfred’s thoughts whirled through his mind with the same amount of coherency and sense that one would expect from an amoeba. Should he keep going straight? Who was that person he heard? How did he not notice them before? Should he turn and face the lights?

           Alfred’s mind was torn from his thoughts as he heard a loud ‘pop’ in the distance behind him. Plagued by his curiosity despite everything, Alfred turned his head round as he continued running down the path, expecting to see the armed murderer to add to his nightmare run. The blonde stared behind himself as he continued running, growing ever more distraught as he couldn’t pinpoint the sound. Decided to refuse himself the luxury of stopping to locate the source, Alfred forced his legs to keep moving and snapped his head forward once more as he continued his retreat. 

           Moments later, the sound came again and then again and again with increasing frequency. Alfred spared another glance over his shoulder and let out a shriek as he saw light after light burst intensely, the bulbs shattering in their advance towards him. “Oh my god! Oh god!” Alfred wailed as he was momentarily unable to remove his eyes from the destruction that was rapidly gaining on him. Pop after pop rang like gunfire through his ears; the sound growing louder and louder as the lights were coming upon him. 

           Tears of utter dread sprang forth from Alfred’s eyes and a guttural cry ripped through his throat as the light immediately behind him burst, the light directly in front of him doing the same at the exact moment he took another step forward. Tremors racked through his body as he ineptly attempted to keep moving his legs. He blundered forward several more paces, sobbing in consternation as his ears seemed to pick up soft whispers in the wind.

           The American struggled to create strangled pleas to whoever or _whatever_ his assailant was; he could feel his consciousness swiftly leaving him despite his best efforts and his desire- _need_ to try and reason with his, assured, going-to-be killer. The whispers- or were they shouts?- continued as he took one more bumbling step forward; his knees buckled as he brought his foot down too quickly onto uneven ground and he suddenly found the ground rising up to meet him. Then, as the last vestiges of his consciousness left him, Alfred felt what could have only been his attacker’s weapon dig into his flesh.


	3. Haunting Hour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alfred would be the worst Ghostbuster.

           “Ah...Oh... This is trouble.” A voice rang out around the unconscious American. “Terrible trouble.” The voice added. Alfred laid unconscious in a decorative thorn bush off the running trail. “Curse my impatience.” The voice chided. Inspection of the surrounding area would reveal nothing aside from the shattered lights; Alfred had managed to collapse so completely into the shrub that, even if someone came by, they probably wouldn't notice the poor man.

           “So fragile...” the voice mumbled. The music still played softly from the cellphone the American somehow managed to keep a grip on; if Alfred had any skill, apparently, it was grip of steel.

           “Hmm, interesting music.” the voice mused, seemingly having decided to settle in beside the, well, scene. “I hope you wake up soon, it’s chilly today.” the voice said as if Alfred could hear. A smile seemed to play through the voice. “So silly.”.

           Potentially 30 to 45 minutes later, Alfred groaned, willing his eyes open. He squirmed, grimacing as thorns from the bush scraped harshly at any exposed skin. Alfred whined in dismay; just what in the hell happened?

           Alfred began sitting himself up, counting his blessings that his glasses managed to stay on his face; perhaps he should get contacts. He held his glasses in place, groaning softly once more as he removed some of the bush fragments from his hair.

           “When I find the person who did this I’m gonna kill them.” Alfred growled softly through clenched teeth, apparently having temporarily forgotten the events that led to his current situation.

           “Too late!” A close, very close, voice chirped and then continued without missing a beat, “Your glasses flew off when you fell; you’re so clumsy aren’t you?” The voice continued happily “It was a lot of effort to pick up your glasses and put them on your face, but I did it.” the voice said, feelings of pride in the male sounding voice, sounding like they expected praise.

           Because of the voice’s continued rambling, Alfred wasn’t as uprooted by the reply of ‘too late’ as he should have been. Instead, Alfred whipped his head around to find the owner of the voice. He looked to his right, he looked to his left, he looked behind himself and he looked in front of himself, but the owner was nowhere to be seen. Only when he looked up to inspect the lampposts did he notice _him_.

           “Hello! Privet!” A spectral figure several feet in the air greeted as they locked eyes. “I like your music!” the specter continued, the ethereal scarf he wore around his neck blowing gently in the breeze. All that remained to light the area was the full moon shining down, moon beams draping over the trees and the man floating above the horrified American.

           “I was wondering though: just what is that ‘X’ person going to give to them?” the ghost continued, happy it would seem to hold a conversation with himself because Alfred was rendered speechless before his spectral visitor. Alfred’s blood ran cold at the sight of the ghost, translucent and fear inspiring.

           The ghost seemed to continue talking, but Alfred had completely tuned the man out after he- it said hello. Several seconds passed before the American’s terror seized control over his legs; he scrambled quickly out of the bush, uncaring of the scraps left by the thorns. Alfred dared a glance at the man, letting out a horrified cry as it bubbled up and escaped from his throat.

           “O-Oh do not have a frighten; I am Iv-” The ghost began but was cut off by another fearful cry. Alfred’s legs darted forward, placing him back on the path. The ghost watched in shock, he drifted down to be closer, but, upon noticing his advance, the blonde completely and utterly lost it.

           Alfred howled in terror, reduced to nonsensical outbursts as he began a mad dash for the park’s exit. “Oh my god! Please! No!” he roared, running down the path, leaving a shocked ghost behind him. Alfred refused to look back as he ran, regardless of the cries he heard which must have been from the ghost, trying to lure him back to his death.  
           “Wait! No!” The ghost cried, giving chase after the blonde. But the American continued his retreat, not giving the ghost a word or look as he fled.

           Anger swelled up in the ghost and as Alfred was reaching the exit, the ghost burst with emotion and intense anger, “Leave then!” they wailed, throwing their head back with a cry of anguish, “I never liked you! Leave!” They continued to wail, making the busted lights spasm with sparks of electricity, “Leave!” The ghost sobbed.

           And Alfred was doing just that: leaving. Alfred did, however, spare the specter behind him a look and when he did, Alfred couldn’t help but feel like he was the evil one there. Despite the stab of guilt in his heart, though, the terrified man didn’t slow in the slightest as he continued his retreat, sobs from the ghost thankfully growing softer and then nonexistent as he ran back for his home.

           In record time, Alfred burst back into his home, slamming the door behind him as he was worried the whole sprint home that the evil spirit was chasing him home.

           “God, Christ, Alfred!” A voice cried “it’s so late and you weren’t home yet!”

           Alfred was pressed, flush against the wooden door when his brother walked into the room, “Alfred I tried calling you, like, _five_ times, but you weren’t-” The man stopped himself short as he noticed the state his brother was in. “Alfred. Alfred what’s wrong?” The brother asked while approaching the horrified man. “Did something happen at the park? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Matthew said.

           The simple mention of the word ‘ghost’ was enough to elicit a startled gasp and cringe from his brother.

           “Ghost?” Matthew repeated curiously, recreating the same effect. He frowned, his concerned expression morphing into a stern one. “Really, Alfred? A ghost?” He said in disbelief.

           “There was a ghost, Matt!” Alfred wailed in response when he was finally able to find his words.

           “Alfre-”

           “There was!” Alfred wailed once more, “While I was running the lights were freaking out--!”

           “Al that doesn’t mean--”  
           “The lights were buggin’ out and then they all started bustin’ like Bam bam bam _BAM_! ‘N they were was all bustin’ towards me and I _heard him_ Matt!”

           “Alfred it was probably just--”

           “I _saw_ him Matt!” I saw him!” Alfred shouted, “I saw him- it and it was floating right above me! It made me pass out in a bush!”

           Matthew looked at his brother with measurably less concern as Alfred continued explaining “Alfred, what _really_ happened?” He asked, “Did someone attack you? Al, please-”

           “ _Matt!_ ” Alfred cried in dismay, looking at his brother as if the other had just told him their parents died.

           By this point in his life, Matthew had grown used to dealing with his brother’s obsessions and ‘encounters’ with the supernatural. First it was that Francis, the man who lived down the street, was a vampire. Then it was Alfred’s co-worker, Arthur, who practiced black magic and “definitely” was “in cahoots” with the “vampire”. Then there was that situation when Alfred was dead-set on some poor traveler walking a _werewolf_ ; all of this on top of the idea that his brother was not attacked by a ghost? Matthew sighed at the thought- annoyed, but still at least a little worried about his frazzled brother.

           “...The ghost knocked you out?” he asked, humoring his brother, for now.

           Alfred huffed softly, calming down slowly, “No... he scared the shit outta me ‘n I passed out in a bush.”

           “What’d the ghost do again?” Matthew wondered, using the time his brother took to explain to look over Alfred for any serious injuries. When he found nothing aside from minor scratches, the Canadian decided to cut his losses and settle into the fact that Alfred must have just been spooked by an electrical problem on his run and made something up that he thought really happened.

           “...and then I ran home.” Alfred finished as Matthew brought his attention back to his brother’s words. Since Alfred didn't seem hurt and the man made it home fine, Matthew continued to humor his brother; upon returning to this thought later, Matthew would assume he himself played quite a large role in Alfred’s continued “encounters” with the supernatural.

           “The ghost didn’t hurt you?” He asked, moving over to a couch to sit himself down.

           Alfred watched his brother and knit his brow, as if confused by the question. “...No.” Alfred mumbled after a moment; this bothered him greatly.

           The more Alfred thought about it, the ghost hadn’t been very ghost-like at all. Yes, it floated and was see through, but it didn’t hurt him, or shriek, or try to steal his soul.

           “Well what _did_ it do?” Matthew wondered from where he lay on the couch, apathy beginning to reign over the man’s mood as the time ticked closer and closer to midnight, dismissing sleep to make sure his brother was okay after the ‘ghost attack’.

           Alfred blinked, “Uh...” he thought. Well, it certainly scared the life out of him, surely. But, with continued thought, the ghost seemed to become more and more... amicable?

           “Maybe that ghost just wanted to be your friend or something,” Matthew began, curling himself up on the couch, pulling a blanket over himself as he decided that that was where he’d sleep for the evening, “and you probably just screamed at it and ran away like a big hoser.” Matthew japed, missed sarcasm oozing from his voice. “Poor Casper.” He added after a moment, situating himself comfortably on the couch; scorn had truly taken over the Canadian this evening.

           Alfred blinked, mildly surprised by his brother’s words, “Dude...” Alfred mumbled, growing visibly conflicted. In a quick moment, however, Alfred shook the thought from his mind and the emotion from his face. “Ghosts are evil, Matt. That’s why they’re stuck here, cuz they’re evil.” Alfred affirmed, mainly for himself.

           “Sure, whatever.” Matthew mumbled as Alfred turned off the room light for him and quickly shuffled his way to his bedroom.

           “Ghosts. Pff.” Matthew huffed softly, allowing himself to drift to sleep as he heard his brother’s bedroom door close.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates may start becoming less frequent now; I've exhausted all of the 'pre-written' stuff that I have. So no more daily chapter updates; sorry about that, guys.
> 
> Let me know what you guys think so far! I'm dying to hear what you think ;)


	4. Ghostly Turns of Phrase

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What do you call it when an Athletic-exorcist is showing you their skills?  
> An exercising exorcist exercising exercising-exorcising.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was starting to feel bad for not updating this story for a while, so I decided to edit my plans and make a less plot heavy chapter to reassure you guys that this story isn't dead/give you guys something to feast your eyes on!

                Alfred sat at work in the meeting room with bags under his eyes, an exhausted demeanor to replace his usual happy one, and a conscience that was as clear as mud.  
                About half a week had passed since Alfred’s run in with the ghost and he hadn’t been able to rest peacefully since; not only because of the encounter, but because Matthew’s words were weighing on him more heavily than Alfred had anticipated they would. Alfred really had just screamed at it- him and ran away.

                And now he couldn't’ stop thinking about it.

                The last time Alfred had felt this guilty, he had been in middle school and accidentally dumped a vat of quick-drying glue on a poor classmate of his. Wanting to distract himself, Alfred attempted to invest himself in eavesdropping on the conversation going on while they all waited for today's meeting to begin.

                “I’m starving; all I had to eat today was some burnt ghost.” Alfred listed to someone say, causing him to choke on the sugary coffee drink he’d been nursing slowly for the last hour.

                “W-What?” Alfred asked between coughs.

                “Oooh, don’t be so surprised that Arthur burnt his toast.” another co-worker replied to Alfred with a snicker. Oh. Toast, Alfred thought, the tension in his shoulders dissipating.  

                “Sod off.” Arthur spat, “I forgot about it.” he added, defending himself.

                “Those toaster ovens have a ‘toast’ setting, you know.” the co-worker retorted, jeering at the Briton.

                “Sod. Off.” he repeated with more bite.

                “Just have that boyfriend of yours make you food, Arthur.” Alfred heard someone say before he turned his attentions to something else.

                Minutes passed and, thankfully, the American would think, the meeting started.

                However, Alfred quickly found that he couldn’t seem to escape the _idea_ of ghosts, let alone his fear of them.

                “Alfred.” The meeting head spoke, capturing everyone’s attention as the entered the room. “Today we’re going to discuss possible ways for us to work through the problems we’re facing with the Florist project we’re working on.”

                At least he would be able to take his mind of the ghost while he was at work, Alfred thought while pulling a portfolio out of his bag.

                “Shall we?” The head asked, and thusly, the meeting began.

                Only an hour later, not even close to their first break, Alfred found himself beginning to slump in his office chair; this project didn’t really seem to need the Labor relations branch very much, not today, anyway.

                Alfred normally enjoyed when he would have an easy day at work, but not today. Having on easy day meant that he could let his mind wonder now and again; letting his mind wonder means his thoughts would return to the ghost; and thinking about the ghost only served to make the American all the more uncomfortable in his already uncomfortable office chair.

                And, despite his efforts not to, his mind did return to thoughts of the ghost.

                It was real; horrifically real, Alfred thought to himself, chewing worriedly on the side of his thumb. Alfred wanted it to be fake; on lord in heaven how he wanted it to have been fake, but Alfred knew it was real. He didn’t want it to be, but it just _had_ to be.

                “ _I_ _was the one being a dick, not him...”_ Alfred thought, the words of his brother ringing through his mind.

                “ _Maybe that ghost just wanted to be your friend or something.”_ Alfred heard Matthew say in his mind. He frowned, furrowing his brow just before being turn from his thoughts.

                “Alfred!” The American heard his British co-worker hiss as he gave the younger man a quick jab in the ribs.

                “Ow!?” Alfred cried, giving Arthur an irritated look.

                “Isn’t that right, _Labor relations_?” Arthur asked, nodding Alfred’s attention towards the meeting head, successfully throwing the American under the bus.

                “U-Uh.” Alfred stuttered, worry and confusion owning the blonde’s expressions. Upon seeing the almost tangible confusion on the man's face, the head repeated the statement that essentially got him into this mess:

                “We won’t be giving up the ghost on this project anytime soon, now will we, Mr. Jones?” they asked, effectively shocking the American.  
                “G-Ghost?” Alfred echoed, intelligibly, looking at the head with growing alarm. The head blinked, chuckled softly, and shook their head; Alfred was lucky that the head had a good sense of humor.

                “Yes, Alfred, you’re “Ghost relations manager” as of right now.”

                “Ghost relations!?” He gasped, echoing once more in shock.

                “Lord, you really were distracted.” Arthur said, “Ghost movies again?” he jested, the joking falling flat for his friend.

                “Thank you for, at least, making this morning amusing, Labor relations.” The head said, giving the flustered blonde a smile. “I think we’ll all start our morning break a little early today everyone; how about you take up the idea of more coffee, eh, Alfred?” They asked.

                “Y-Yeah.” Alfred muttered with much chagrin, his face burning with embarrassment as their break began.

                ---------------

                During their 15-minute break while Alfred tried to recover from the embarrassment he subjected himself to, he allowed himself to listen to the conversation Arthur was having with another co-worker. But, to Alfred’s great displeasure, the idea resurfaced in a fresh, new, format mere seconds after he clued himself in to their conversation.

                “Hey, I heard that that ‘Hayes’ author you seem to like so much is actually using a ghost writer.” they said, intent on gauging the Briton’s reaction, but, Alfred reacted first.

                “Oh my God.” Alfred said, scared tension in his voice, “You gotta be kidding me!”

                “Quite so!” Arthur chimed in, not catching the true reason why the tension was in his friend's voice. “There’s not a ghost of a chance that she uses a ghost writer!”

                “Agh!” Alfred cried in agitation and dismay. He snatched up his phone, stood himself up, and promptly excused himself from the room, desperate to get away from the topic. “I can’t believe this!”

                “I concur!” Alfred heard Arthur say on his exit, “the very idea is simply beyond me!” Arthur said in a huff, under the assumption that Alfred was sharing his disbelief about the author rather than ghosts.

                Alfred walked down the hallway a ways before stopping and leaning against the corridor wall in dismay. “I’m cursed.” Alfred through to himself. “I’m cursed.”

                Alfred spent the remaining minutes of their morning break where he leaned against the wall, scrolling through social media to distract himself. But, unfortunately for the American, no amount of cat videos and silly dogs were proving able enough to distance his thought from it- from the ghost.

                Alfred shook his head; he wasn’t going to think about this, not now- never again if he had it his way. “Ahg, c’mon.” Alfred grumbled to himself as he returned to the meeting room, dead set on preventing the ghostly thoughts from surfacing again. Alfred even decided to take notes on the meeting upon returning to his seat. As the meeting began once more, Alfred pulled out a notebook to solidify his chances.

                The second half of the meeting went as well as Alfred hoped it would, much to the man’s delight. Alfred had been more focused and up to speed with the progression of their current project than he had been in weeks- and now he had notes about everything!

                “This must be what it’s like to be a good worker.” Alfred though, an amused smile playing across his face with a soft snicker. They were halfway through the day now; halfway through the day meant lunch! Alfred stood up, intent on heading to the break room to fetch his lunch when he overheard another conversation between Arthur and someone else.

                “What’s that you got there for lunch, Arthur? Just a lame old sandwich?” they wondered, sounding bewildered, “I thought you were dating a chef!” they exclaimed. “Are you sure he’s not ghosting you?” They asked while leaning against the tabletop.

                Arthur scoffed with disgust he made no attempt at hiding; he huffed and nodded in agreement with an appalled sound from Alfred that rang through the meeting room. “You’re being quite irksome today, aren’t you?” The Briton asked, giving the co-worker a displeased look

                “I can’t believe this! God!” Alfred cried, holding his head in his hands- just how many phrases are there in the English language about ghosts?!

                “That’s right!” Arthur huffed, feeding off Alfred’s energy, “Francis would never do that to me! The nerve of it!”

                Alfred groaned, beginning to believe that he’d really been cursed. With that, Alfred made a quick exit from the meeting room.

                “You all met Francis once, stop making assumptions about him!” Alfred heard Arthur huff angrily as he exited the room.

                The tail end of the work day seemed to drag on for days rather than hours; Alfred even stopped bothering with note taking: what was the point of using notes to distract himself if his thoughts- willing or otherwise- would just end up on the ghost once more? Alfred was made exhausted by a normal work day and couldn’t bring himself to care at the moment.

                Alfred almost wailed when ghosts were brought up at the very end of the meeting; there was no escape or end it seemed. Alfred was tempted to ask his co-workers to refrain from bringing up the subject, but refrained, the idea of being the butt of workplace jokes _twice_ in one day not appealing very much to the American.

                Alfred already was ‘Manager of Ghost relations’ after all. And right now, all the Manager of Ghost Relations wanted to do was go to his ghost free home, have some ghost free dinner, and play some _ghost free_ video games.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you guys think! :D  
> Were you getting as sick of all the ghost phrases as Alfred was? Haha


	5. Running from a Ghost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grilled cheese and growing guilt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing this chapter was harder than it should have been, but I hope you still like it!

           Alfred sat at his kitchen table, only poking and nibbling at a meal he would normally have polished off in minutes. It was fortunate for the American that his brother wasn’t there at the moment; this manner that Alfred was treating his favorite meal was worthy of worry, if not more serious measure.

           Alfred harrumphed, pushing a spoonful of soup into his mouth. “Stupid ghost is ruinin’ my dinner and it ain’t even here.” As the sentence finished leaving the American’s mouth, Alfred shot upright in his seat, snapping his gaze quickly around the room, desperate to conform his statement. After looking around for a panicked moment, Alfred huffed and returned his attentions to his grilled cheese and tomato soup.

           “Dumb ghost.” The blonde huffed and pushed a mouthful of grilled cheese into his mouth.

           The American considered confiding in Arthur, but was hesitant. Alfred was positive that Arthur “was into weird stuff”; he’d seen just what was inside the Briton’s bag before. It occurred to Alfred that Arthur may even know how to banish the ghost ‘or something’. Alfred sat at his kitchen table and lingered on this thought for longer than he’d intended.

           From what Alfred understood about banishing or exorcising something from the horror movies he would watch was that it was an excruciatingly painful experience. Did the ghost really do something that deserved that much suffering? Alfred learned back in his seat to ponder this further.

           Aren’t ghost, like, chained to the earth because they’re so horrible? Or was it that ghosts were chained to this plane because they had unfinished business?

           What if the unfinished business was happiness or something? ... What if the unfinished business was _murdering_ someone? Alfred shuddered at the thought. But, do ghosts that want to hurt and murder people really compliment your music?

            Wouldn’t a ghost whose sole desire was to kill simply kill? Alfred may have felt dead at the moment, but Alfred was 100% sure that the ghost _didn’t_ kill him that evening. “Maybe I should go and give it a second shot...” Alfred mused quietly to himself.

           Sometime during the young blonde’s thoughts, Alfred must have begun leaning back in his seat because, suddenly, he found himself forcefully ripped from his train of thought when he learned too far back and made his quick, rough, and fearful descent from his upright position at the table to lying prone on his kitchen floor. Alfred’s howl of terror and despair was cut short as he let out a grunt of pain upon his hard impact with the floor.

           Alfred groaned, more out of relief and annoyance than pain. Alfred looked to the slice of grilled cheese he held in a vice grip and sighed. He brought the sandwich to his mouth and nibbled at it, deciding that he would finish it down there. As he stared at the kitchen ceiling, chewing idly at the edge of his meal, the American steeled his nerves and decided that he would go back.

           Alfred stood in his room that evening, a puzzled look on his face as he wracked his mind for ideas.

           What will it dislike?

           Silver. No, that was werewolves. Garlic? No no: that’s vampires. The American had decided that, regardless of his decision, he still had to be careful, so he was taking preventative measures.

           Incense?

           Holy water? Prayers? Or is that only for demons? Are ghosts demons?  
           Crosses! No... that’s for vampires, isn’t it? Or was it demons? ...A flashlight?

           Alfred sighed, he was much more ready to face vampires, werewolves, and zombies than ghosts. The American sighed again; ghosts, why ghosts? _A_ ghost. _The_ ghost. For the third time, Alfred sighed, feeling some of his resolve slipping away.

           “Why a ghost?” he groaned, giving up the pursuit of finding a ghost’s weakness for the time being. The blonde approached his bed and allowed himself to lie down.

           “Psychic!” Alfred blurted out as the thought struck him. “...No psychic is weak to ghosts, isn’t it?” he wondered, scrunching his face up in thought.

           Sealing rites? Salt circles? After a few more minutes of thinking with no breakthroughs, he shook his head, sincerely abandoning the train of thought “for real” this time.

           “How am I supposed to deal with ghosts?” he sighed, shaking his head and plopping his head back against the sheets below. Alfred would have to do some research.

           Alfred woke up the next morning only to be greeted, on his day off, by more thoughts about the ghost. Alfred whined, his dreams and thoughts only serving to remind him of the promise he’d made to himself the evening before: he would go back to the trail. Alfred rolled himself out of bed to start his day.

           After an hour or two longer than it should have taken the American to arrive, Alfred stood at the entrance to the trail, eyes glues to the archway where the name of the trail was displayed.

           “Sunlit trail...” Alfred muttered to himself pensively, glancing around nervously despite the sun shining high in the sky.

           “Man..” Alfred sighed before shuffling his way awkwardly into the vicinity. “It’s morning. It’s daytime so I don’t gotta worry about ghosts.” He reassured himself despite the swarm of butterflies in his stomach. He groaned. “C’mon, c’mon, c’mon!” Alfred berated, lurching himself forwards with several quick, long steps forward, successfully landing himself in front of the memorial plaque.

           Upon inspection of the surrounding area, it didn’t look like anything had happened. No lights looked broken; not even the slightest bit out of place it would seem. The leaves were beginning to take on their wondrous fall colors and it even looked like someone had brought in pumpkins to get walkers into the season spirit. The way the vibrantly colored leaves lay almost artistically along the trail made the American smile.

           “What a nice trail.” Alfred mused, before bringing his eyes to the memorial plaque below him, unfortunately reminding him about why he came to the rail in the first place.

           ....The ghost.

           Alfred shook his head and decided to, once more, distract himself with anything and everything he could put his mind to. Alfred leaned down, examining the memorial plaque like he did before.

           “Ivan...” Alfred said softly before scrunching his face in at an unfamiliar looking last name, saying it incorrectly several times before finally getting it. “B..buh...Brag..in... sky..”  Alfred looked over the plaque for a long moment and then brought his eyes to the picture which adorned it. The man looked... familiar somehow, as if he’d seen him somewhere before but couldn’t remember. Alfred frowned, worried momentarily that this “Ivan” had been one of his classmates and he simply forgot them, but was relieved upon noting the date of the memorial and concluded that it wasn’t a possibility that they had been peers.  
           “Ha ha, I woulda been, like, 10.” Alfred guessed and looked over the picture. With a nod, Alfred assured himself that he must only look familiar because of a newspaper article or because of the plaque itself. “In memory of Ivan Braginsky,” Alfred began quoting from the memorial plaque, “whose eyes were super pretty and who was cuter than any flower in this whooole garden.” Alfred hummed, bringing a smile to his own face as he looked over the picture of who must have been Ivan himself. As Alfred stood up, he felt a sudden, intense chill, but quickly forgot about it as the cold disappeared quickly, as if blown away by the gentle breeze of the afternoon.

           “Whelp, no ghosts here; only pictures of cuites.” Alfred said to himself and upon reaching that answer, Alfred escorted himself off the trail once more, considering his mission complete.

            Later that evening, Alfred sat in his computer chair, leisurely reading some articles online, “Lord in heaven, getting possessed by a demon would be the wooorst.” Alfred observed while glancing through the article, “Remind me never to get possessed by a demon, geez!” Alfred leaned back in his chair, swirling around in a slow circle as he decided to give his eyes a rest. As Alfred sat, staring aimlessly around his room, he couldn’t help a feeling of continued guilt swelling up in his chest.

           “Augh, why though?” Alfred whined, leaning back in his hair and grasping at the roots of his hair. “ _Maybe because oh, you know, just cuz the ghost wasn’t there doesn’t mean you’re not still a huge dick._ ” Alfred thought in response to his own question, chastising himself. Alfred whined once more, upset at himself for making the issue resurface, “ _Remember the part where the ghost didn’t hurt you at all._ ” Alfred frowned, running his hand through his hair as he chain of self-deprecating thoughts continued. Alfred frowned and shook his head, dispelling the thoughts.

           “Plague my thoughts all you wanna, ghost,” Alfred said, “But there ain’t a snowball’s chance in hell that I’m going back to that trail!” He huffed as stood from his computer chair to venture to the kitchen for something to eat.

           Less than an hour later, Alfred stood, once more, at the entrance of the trail, eyes locked on to the archway where the name of the trail was displayed. “Sunlit trail...” Alfred whispered to himself, glancing around nervously from the entrance to the moon which functioned as the main source of light this evening.  Alfred, in contrast to his earlier statement, indeed returned to the trail; not to exercise, but rather, to investigate as well as calm his mind some.

           “Man...” Alfred sighed before shuffling his way awkwardly once more into the vicinity. “It was so much nicer here in the daytime...” Alfred muttered quietly as he made his way over towards the plaque he had stood in front of less than 8 hours ago. The trail still looked nice, Alfred thought as he subdued his fidgets and settled his eyes down on the memorial plaque.

           “Auugh, the ghost was so _creepy_ though.” Alfred lamented.

           At that moment, Alfred felt a chill soar up his spine, hearing what could have only been a scoff.

           “ _You_ are the one who said _I_ was cute.” a voice said, pained emotion resonating in the sound.

           Alfred sucked in a shocked gasp of air and pivoted around quickly to make his escape as all of his bravery shot out from him like the air from his lungs.  As the American took a hasty step forward, he felt his legs seize up and his throat clench as he realized what occurred with his quick retreat.

           The ghost.

           Alfred just ran thought the ghost.

           “Oh christ, god, Jesus.” Alfred whispered in a rush, his intense fear leaving him teetering in the recently made familiar place between consciousness and blacking out on the concrete. Since when did Alfred faint so readily?

           The blonde didn’t dare to look behind him for fear of what he thought- _knew_ would be there. It was as if he was exactly back in that spot, back under that lamp, back in that same bush as the night it had happened. Oh, why did he come back, Alfred thought and then voiced.

           “Why did I come back, why did I come back, _why_ did I come back?” he cried. Alfred’s voice was just above a whisper, but, for the ghost, it must have reached near screaming levels because as the ghost registered what the shorter man was asking himself, he shouted in turn.

           “Yes!” Came a loud shout, striking Alfred to his core, “Why did you come back!?” Alfred heard the ghost echo his question

           “Why did you come back!?” the ghost shouted again, louder this time.

           Alfred was frozen in place by terror, another familiar place for him as of late, and he found that in that moment, he wasn’t able to breathe. A whirlwind of thoughts bombarded the young man, only being tipped from the, almost falling over the edge of consciousness, only to be saved from the darkness as a sob rang through his ears.

           “Why did you return!?” The voice wailed in a sob, successfully triggering the blonde’s leg muscles to rapid fire in his escape.

           And, as Alfred ran away for the second time, the thought ran through his mind as well, “Why had he returned?”. Why would he return if he was just going to run away again?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I absolutely adore hearing what you guys think!   
> I had a plan and I sort of veered off course, but I think things are still going smoothly!


	6. Guilt and Gigabytes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The internet can hold the key to all of your answers as well as all of your problems.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's finally here!

           Alfred didn’t know how long he sat at the foot of his bed that evening, staring at the sliding door to his closet, but he knew a lot of other things now, too much.

           Alfred knew he ran away, _again,_ he knew all he’d done was scream and run, again. He knew he did exactly the opposite of what he told himself he was going to do. He knew that that ghost used to be a human being and he knew he made that ghost- human being cry.

           He made them cry.

           He made Ivan cry and Alfred felt like his heart was being ripped from his chest.

           Alfred knew that evening that he would find no peace in sleep, if the jarred American could even find sleep _at all_ after coming to fully understand ‘just how much of a dick’ he had been.

           That why, at 2:30 in the morning, the American stood in front of the coffee maker, in the scarcely lit kitchen where he was noticed by his brother who was on a trip to the bathroom.

           “....ed...fred....Alfred!”

           Alfred jerked, tearing his eyes away from the rhythmic drip of the coffee pot to look to his groggy brother.

           “What on earth are you doing making coffee at--” Matthew looked to the clock, “2:30 in the morning?” The other asked in disbelief, the fact that he lived in Canada most of his life shining through in his sleepy, accent laden, voice.

           Alfred looked at his brother for a long moment before returning his attention to the coffee pot to begin preparing himself a cup.

           Matthew watched, concern beginning to pervade through his features. “Alfie, is something wrong?” He asked, further concern rising in him as his brother prepared himself an uncharacteristically unsweetened cup of coffee; only upon retrieving a funnel would anyone be able to get Alfred Jones to ‘drink’ black coffee. Matthew felt his heart sink when he saw his brother nod.

           “I accidentally flirted with a ghost.” Alfred murmured, the most serious, worn out, and grave the upbeat man’s expression had been in months.

           Matthew blinked, silence commanding him as Alfred gathered the mug in his hands and began his journey back to his room.

           Matthew blinked once more and he felt all concern leave him. “Flirted--! Augh!” he cried in frustration before making his angry, sleepy way back to his bedroom to go back to sleep.

           Alfred, however, did not sleep; his guilt weighing so heavily on him that the idea of getting any type of restful sleep for the rest of the week was beyond him. Rather, Alfred sat at his computer, the shine from the monitor being the only source of light in the room. If he couldn’t find sleep, he would be productive; productive in some sense of the word, anyway.

           Alfred F. Jones considered himself a master of at least three things: Dark Souls, knot tying, and finding answers on the world wide web. The internet: Alfred’s second home. So, rather than allowing himself to go to sleep, Alfred decided to search the internet for his ghostly “acquaintance”, Ivan Braginski. “Okay, Mr. Braginski, let’s learn some more about you shall we?” Alfred asked of the empty room as he opened his internet browser.

           Rapidly cooling coffee by his side, the young American searched through the long hours of the late evening and the wee hours of the early morning for any and all information he could find on the ghostly man; after hours of searching, Alfred sat, tired eyes behind his glasses staring at his computer screens, several tabs visible between two windows sharing the computer screen.

           The hours of searching for the American yielded in several significantly old articles about the specter, or, more specifically, about the man _before_ he was a specter.

           “Ivan Braginski.” Alfred murmured, surprise engulfing his features as he recognized the name of the site that published this article; the publisher was Millennium University, the very same university at which Alfred attended years prior to earn his business degree. Feeling sudden worry well up in his chest, Alfred looked at the screen for a long moment. Opening this tab very well may be like opening Pandora’s box, the American thought.

           But, under further deduction, this also may be the only way to learn the truth: the whole truth; this may be one of the only ways to ease the blonde’s troubled mind.

           Alfred scrutinized the blurb for a long moment before clicking the link, the simple action like disarming a bomb for the American in those brief moments.

           “A _good_ person would turn into a _good_ ghost.. right?” Alfred questioned the shining computer screen, hoping an affirmative answer would lie within.

           For a moment, while the page loaded at speeds comparable to those of honey attempting to ooze its way out of a clogged honey bottle, Alfred was sure that Ivan must have been a good man; the school wouldn’t highlight the life and actions of a horrible person.  
           Upon further thought, however, Alfred realized that the school has, in face, covered horrifying events in the past and that it was a very real possibility that Ivan could be the cause of one of those horrible events. Ivan, potentially, could even be the worst.

           As this realization dawned upon the American, Alfred tried to dispel all thought, logical or otherwise, and simply wished for the page would load. The blonde cursed himself in those moments for being cheap and not investing in a fancier, quicker internet router and modem.

           Alfred looked down at his keyboard, swallowing thickly and rapping his fingers against the wooden surface of his desk while he waited.

           Finally, the moment came and the screen flashed before displaying the page of information he yearned so badly for. But, Alfred couldn't bring himself to drag his eyes up from his desk; he couldn’t convince himself to look back at his computer screen. At this, Alfred let out a frustrated groan, “Hhhh, what if the ghost was a murderer?” Alfred wondered in dismay, “What if the ghost I _flirted_ with was a murderer?”

           Alfred anguished thusly for a painful span of five minutes, words similar to ‘psychopath’ and ideas of ‘it’s always the quiet ones’ running through his mind in the same manner which he run from Ivan on two separate occasions: sporadic and frenzied.

           As these thoughts and ideas continued to pervade deeper and deeper in Alfred’s mind, a more morose, less violent thought crept to the forefront of the young man’s brain. Alfred remembered the way Ivan sobbed. Alfred remembered the way the sobs rang through his ears and shook his mind; they had been the cries of a sad soul, an innocent soul, a painfully lonely soul.

           It was with those memories weighing heavily on his mind and his heart that Alfred brought his gaze up.

           Alfred was going to get to the bottom of this.

           Upon tearing his gaze up and away from his desk, Alfred’s eyes were greeted with the familiar looking layout of the university’s website; there were slight changes, Alfred noted as he gave the page he’d loaded a quick glance over. During his scan of the page, he noted that he was deep in the archived section of documents created by the university. While looking for a date to solidify the time line of the article, Alfred’s eyes happened upon an empty square. When Alfred noticed a loading circle in the middle of the box, he concluded that it must be an image and he waited several, long moments for it to load on the page.

           Alfred would later be ashamed to admit that, due to intense staring and paranoia, he jerked in surprise when the image finally loaded. Alfred’s shock quickly tapered off, however, as he took in the image displayed before him. It must have been him; it was Ivan.

           The man in the image looked exactly like the ghost; if nothing else, Alfred at least he had a positive I.D.. No close examination whatsoever was needed for Alfred to clearly see that Ivan was well liked by the community during his life. In the image, Ivan held a generously sized watermelon which was securely tucked in the crook of his arm. In his other hand, he held the stalks of two sunflowers, both boasting huge floral heads; Alfred made the safe assumption that Ivan had grown these crops himself. The joy was plain to see on the man’s face, making it easy for Alfred to tell why the plaque described the deceased man as a green thumb. Unbeknownst to himself, Alfred adorned a smile of his own while admiring the delighted man’s visage. However, upon remembering his intended purpose of entering the site, Alfred snapped his eyes away from the image to begin reading the contents of the article, his worries of murderers having been quelled dramatically by the happy picture just to the right of the words he read.

           Alfred muttered softly to himself as he read, “Ivan’s life, like the early blooms of spring, was too short. He came into our lives and his life was, as if by a greedy passerby, plucked too soon from this life and without warning.”

           “Oh no...is this a eulogy?” Alfred whispered quietly to himself, as if he didn’t want his computer to hear. Alfred scanned over the rest of the article quickly, trying to hastily get the gist of it while trying to ignore a twisting feeling in his chest. But, despite his efforts, Alfred could feel his heart sink and twist and ache as he read the last several lines of the article.

            _“So, it is on this day and for all the days after that we will greatly miss Ivan Braginski: whose smile could light up a room and whose hands could beautify any landscape.”_

           Alfred sat, eyes glued to the last lines of the article. His eyes shot up through the rest of the paragraphs, catching the words “beloved”, “heartwarming”, and “sweet” before his gaze fell back to the right half of the screen, to the picture of Ivan. Alfred glanced over the cute features of the now confirmed Russian man, noting an adorable, weaved gardener’s hat atop his head and Alfred couldn’t stop the agonized groan from escaping his throat. A moment later, Alfred allowed his head to fall, connecting hard with his desk. Alfred let out a cry of pain, but he felt he deserved the suffering at that point.

           “Oh god... everyone loved him.” Alfred murmured through squished lips against the hardwood of his desk. Guilt encompassed the entirety of the American’s being and he twisted and craned his neck to give the eulogy another, quick look over. Alfred let his face bury itself back into the wood of his desk once his spotted the word “cheerful” and he let out an exacerbated heave of a moan, “I made the cute gardener that everyone loved cry...”

           Alfred thumped his head begrudgingly against his desk, regretting every action he’d taken up to that point; how was he going to get himself out of this pit he dug for himself?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's almost shameful how long it took me to get this out of my brain and uploaded. I liked the way this chapter turned out, though, so let me know what you think!


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